


Seventeen Months

by eidheann



Series: Passing Time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidheann/pseuds/eidheann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been seventeen months since the last Battle, and I’d only begun to breathe again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen Months

Seventeen months. Seventeen months since the last Battle. Fifteen months since we’d both been discharged by the Wizengamot; fined, facing a year under house arrest, then another five on probation with community service.  
  
They’d hated to let us go. Our matched blond heads a shining beacon to all things Dark. But you’d never taken the Mark, and I had been underage, born as many Crucios as I had cast and under threat to you, and we’d both had the testimony of the Savior. He’d testified under Veritaserum that we’d both saved his life, made it possible for him to win the war.  
  
And they’d hated it. But they couldn’t go against him. No one could go against him. He stood there, glaring, eyes shining with purpose, face filled with that stubborn determination and anger I’d only ever seen directed at myself. He scared them. They let us go.  
  
No one was happy about it, though. First the Howlers came, then I stopped taking the Prophet, exhausted by the strain on your face whenever you saw the latest headline. They only ever seemed to talk about us. The article questioning just how long Father’s life sentence to Azkaban would take to serve sent you to your room and I tightened the wards and pretended I didn’t hear you crying.  
  
Harry came that day. He brought my wand, spoke of new beginnings. Had you been there, I would have been able to take the cowards way out. But you were firmly indisposed, so I was left to play host.  
  
Later, I was glad of it. We spoke, probably for the first time, and it was surprisingly easy. There were no witnesses, no expectations, and we were each too exhausted to fight. We didn’t discuss the past. We didn’t offer apologies or thanks, they each came later when our tentative something was closer to actual friendship.  
  
And it was, and quickly as well. His friends weren’t happy, though I had given them no reason to be, but first Lovegood, then Granger, then Longbottom came around. They tolerated me for him, and then around the end of our house arrest, they tolerated me for me.  
  
You were overjoyed, or as close as I had hoped to see you again. You had begun corresponding with your sister, the last remaining Black. Things were uncomfortable, but Harry helped with that as well, taking turns talking each of you around.  
  
We were free of the house and it’s memories, free to make friends and make reacquaintance with family. We were starting to breathe again, to make friends, to feel.  
  
And then there was the trip to Diagon Alley. The man with a grudge and a wand. Diffindo. Blood.  
  
I’d forgotten what it was like. In many ways, the past seventeen months were the happiest I’d been in years. It only took moments to forget how to breathe, how to laugh, how to love. Moments, and a stain of red on brick. Your hair slowly absorbing the color until it was redder than a Weasley. Your blue eyes instantly going blank and empty.  
  
The Aurors hauled us both in together. Me and the ranting, yelling man with the grudge. They made noises about my parole. They hoped I’d snap, cast something Dark and Unforgiveable  when they left us alone and unsupervised together. I was almost tempted, briefly. At least then I’d be sent to Azkaban, maybe even get the Kiss. I imagined it would feel like this.  
  
But I couldn’t work up the energy.  
  
Harry saved me again, storming in wearing the brick-colored robes of an Auror trainee. Pointed out that I had never pulled my wand. Told them I was five months out of house arrest, and had every right to be on Diagon. He took me home, to the House of Black, which was much less dark than I remembered. Gave me tea and tried to get me to eat biscuits. Talked, and when I didn’t reply, sat beside me with his arm around my shoulder saying nothing.  
  
Part of me knows I should have cried. Wonders if what’s broken inside me is broken forever.  
  
Your funeral is tomorrow. I wonder if the pieces of me will ever come back together. I wonder if I want them to.


End file.
